The Quest for the Sword of Ambrose
by Britta
Summary: Harry & the gang head off Voldemort in the search for the mysterious Sword of Ambrose. Plot twists are frequent, & romance ensues, leading the kids to question: is their quest doomed? What will happen if the Dark lord reaches it first? PG for romance


Ginny sighed, pulling the covers around her tighter. Like so many nights preceding, she had found herself suddenly awoken. This wouldn't trouble her so much if she had been able to reconcile herself back into peaceful slumber. However, that was not the case, and she wondered why. No person had roused her, nor was it a need to use the loo or anything of that sort. No, it was something else all together. A dream, perhaps?  
  
Ginny strained to remember the reverie that had been playing in her head. Her mind gave nothing. Muttering quietly, she chanted a spell for recalling dreams: "Remembra Sulmbaro". However, her only response was a blurred vision; the most she could make out of it was a man's figure. Accompanying the shape was a sound: unclear but steady, echoing. She got a headache from thinking so much and abandoned her attempts.  
  
The room was oddly chilly; she noticed the movement of her curtains gently swaying. Carefully avoiding any excessive noise making, she tip-toed quietly past the bed which Hermione was sleeping on.  
  
Half-way to the window, Hermione made a little snore. Ginny smiled at her warmly as she reached the window and shut it. Like so many summers in the past, Ron's friend came to visit the Burrow over holidays. Ginny rather enjoyed it; she was happy to have another girl in the house, and she loved the feeling of someone to share her secrets with, a thing she'd not had since her first year with that diary. It was almost bittersweet, though, because the absence of one person hung in her mind like a phantom reminder of some sort.   
  
Of course, this person was Harry. Ginny had wished she was over him; she could see the look he got when staring at Hermione, even though it seemed Hermione was blind to it. She knew she should drop her infatuation, but Harry epitomized the perfect persona: wonderful, handsome, smart, brave, sweet...  
  
Hastily pushing away the thought of Harry, Ginny re-settled in her comfy bed. Thinking of him made her think of some rather unpleasant things amidst the good, and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was one of them.   
  
She once again was drawn back to her first year, and that diary, that cursed diary, and how she had poured everything into it: her heart, her secrets, her trust, her thoughts, everything of hers.   
  
Even now, it tolled its effects on her. She felt an assiduous, dwelling force upon her; it was an arctic feeling, chilling her to the bone, and she had recognized it as an indicator of dark forces. She recalled the first time she had experienced the sensation.  
  
It had been when Tom arrived out of the diary; Tom, who she had so easily trusted; Tom, who used her with his charm and his good looks and everything about him. Ginny did blush when thinking about him today, which shamed her; she knew how evil he was now, and yet she couldn't help slipping into awe of his pure beauty.  
  
When he had stepped out of the books parchment pages, Ginny had been mystified. His hair was jagged and raven, much like Harry's; his eyes were as vivid, but just a shocking azure instead of emerald. Ginny hated comparing Tom to Harry; Harry was so... Harry, and Tom so corrupt, an anti-Harry of some sorts. But to say she had not noticed the similarities would have been a lie. Perhaps it was the resemblance Tom held to Harry that made Ginny eagerly and blindly trust the diary dweller.  
  
She had felt so stupid, so ashamed, when she found out what had happened: she had made him stronger, she had aided his attacks, she had set him free from the restraints of the journal. Ginny knew she would never trust the same again, no matter how hard she tried. Not even Harry had her full confidence, despite her foolish admiration of him. She hated how it had affected her, how she willing was lead into the trap. She felt extremely imprudent and felt others thinking the same.  
  
A thirst surged through her body, a thirst to prove to herself, and to everyone else, that she was not some stupid little girl who fell for any tricks. No, she wanted to be strong and mysterious and brave and everything Harry was to her.   
  
She shivered, even though the window was shut. It was almost as if...  
  
Hermione stirred over in her bed, and Ginny shook away the alarm that had crept into her mind. She had only been exaggerating, after all. What would dark magic want with some mid-teenage girls?   
  
Later, she would curse herself for yet another failure; her submissiveness to underestimate the motives of dark magic would stimulate a line of events out of her control and even Harry's, who always seemed always in control.  
  
She closed her eyes shut and tried to clear her mind of her thoughts, and eventually drifted into an uneasy sleep. She dreamed of things that night that reflected the future and the past. It was a pity she could not remember them the next day, and a blessing, since they would scare her senseless.   
  
* ~ * ~ * ~ *  
  
Miles away, in a very different house, with very contrasting people inside of it, while Ginny Weasley tried to sleep, Draco Malfoy was doing just the opposite. In fact, he was straining to keep his eyes open.   
  
According to Draco's immaculate silver clock, it was two o clock in the morning. How ridiculous! No one dared disturb his rest at the Manor, unless they fancied a severe retribution. What fool would dare waken him?  
  
It sounded like a voice. No, he could distinguish two voices. One voice sounded scared, yet spoke in carefully hushed tones. The other, however, had a vociferous sound, with multitudes of rancor and anger, seemingly indifferent to the probability of waking any. Now Draco was truly annoyed. How dare they disrespect him in such a way?  
  
He sat up in his bed and ever so quietly hopped out of it. He winced at a creak he made as he slid across the floor, reaching the door with as little noise as possible. If these people were conversing, he planned to make the most of it and at least hear what they had to say.  
  
The words floated towards him from his parent's bedroom, only two doors down from his. "Really," Draco thought irritably. "They're disturbing my beauty sleep! Not that I need it," he added in cocky self-admiration.   
  
Having discovered who was speaking, he reprimanded himself for not realizing earlier. Of course his parents would only have the audacity and the right to speak at such an hour, and his considerate mother would at least attempt to stifle the conversation. His father, however, was a different story. Tearing his thoughts from this, Draco tuned in to the voices.  
  
"Lucius," his mother was declaring, "I must tell him. I cannot let my son be a pawn in your twisted game!"  
  
"NO!" his father's cold voice shouted. "If you do, Narcissa.. who knows what could happen!"  
  
"You do not care what happens to your son! You care about your master! Your cowardly master!"  
  
"Do not speak of the Dark Lord in such a way! He will rule all once we have completed this task! Then we will be rewarded! Rewarded beyond anyone else! Rewarded with things we cannot fathom!"  
  
"Rewarded with what, Lucius? With the guilt of knowing we caused the downfall of good? With the blood of other's on our hands, on our son's hands? With desolation and death of innocence? I do not think that is something I wish to be rewarded with."  
  
"Narcissa, you are an ignorant fool, you know nothing. You were a foolish girl with foolish ideas of good and evil when I met you, and you still are today!"  
  
"No, the only ignorant one here is you. You, who runs to the one with power for protection. You, who will betray his own flesh and blood in an instant if it gains you anything. You, who so desperately wants to leave a mark on this world, you will leave the Dark Mark instead of the mark of compassion!"  
  
"I cannot live that life! This is the only way! I cannot turn my back on who I am meant to be! Don't you understand? I did not choose this life. It chose me. Although, that doesn't mean I cannot enjoy the life on the way." His face was contorted, almost in an insane way.  
  
"Can't you see you lie to yourself? It is not the only way . Yet you have sunk so far into this life of darkness that you are blinded! I tried to help you escape from your life of sin, but you did not take the paths I paved! What will it take, Lucius? What will it take for you to see what you are doing? Will it take one more death? The death of yourself? The death of your son? A son you do not know at all?"  
  
"My son was bred as a servant for the Dark Lord. I molded him. He will one day join our crusades. Sometimes I wonder why I chose you to be my breeder." Draco watched as his father stepped forward, caressing his mother's cheek with a long, white finger. She winced.  
  
"But you know, don't you? You were poor, you needed the money, didn't you? You would compromise anything, anything at all, to earn some money. Even your morals. You were just a whore, Narcissa, and you still are!"  
  
Draco saw the tears spring to his mother's eyes, and a fleeting second later, they disappeared, to be replaced with a look of glinting steel. She flicked his lingering finger away. "No, Lucius," she cracked, her voice hard. "Perhaps I have done things I regret in my past. But none so cowardly as you. I did what I did out of desperation and love for my unborn child. I knew- despite being born with a father like you to teach him- I knew he would never compromise such as I did. I still have my morals. Even you cannot take them away from me. And you certainly may never take them from my son. He is stronger than you or I may never be. He will use his power the right way."  
  
Narcissa's tirade faded as Lucius' hit pounded her face. Draco could see, crouching by the door, the mark it left on her, and the mark stood out long after the handprint faded. He could see the look of defeat on her cheeks and faltering triumph that rested in her eyes.  
  
"It seems that I know more than you in this area, remarkably more, Narcissa. My son cannot avoid who he is. He cannot avoid his destiny no more then I could. Maybe my son is stronger than I," Lucius said, smiling his wicked grin. Draco was sickened by the look on his father's face. "But you will never be stronger than me. Never. You will not tell the boy."  
  
* ~ * ~ * ~ *  
  
Many boys his age were gently roused from a peaceful slumber by the sound of an alarm clock, or perhaps their mothers gentle shaking. But no, of course, he was not subjected to these things. Instead, Harry Potter woke up from a restless night with a screaming, screeching voice in his ear.   
  
The voice had no kindness in it, no love, and it was sharp as the edge of a knife and cold as winter's clearest ice. And, like clockwork, the voice rang out every day, precisely at 8:00.  
  
"Get up, you!" shrieked the voice, which belonged to his stuffy Aunt, Petunia. Harry stretched his arms and gave a huge, drawn-out yawn. He knew his Aunt hated this and thought it to be bad manners, so he yawned again, even amplifying the noise he made this time. He dearly wished to be able to call her a ostrich-impersonator, for her neck and figure resembled the bony bird's, but reckoned it would only end in him cleaning all the toilets in the house (which, by the way, there were 3 1/2 of them; one had broken under the combined wearing out of Dudley and Uncle Vernon's weights), and he thought he'd had enough of all the cleaning and scrubbing. In fact, his hands were tired and swollen and red, and not really a pretty picture to look at. He shoved them into his baggy, second-hand pant pockets.  
  
Petunia continued her rhythmic knocking and finally Harry yanked open the door. She backed away as if he was contagious and skirted down the stairs. Harry rolled his vibrant green eyes. The Dursley's treated him like he was dirt and a time bomb about to blow at the same time. He had thought it was funny before, and relished in chasing them while sneezing wildly amid shouting rhyming words. But now it made him feel strangely alone. He still, of course, hated the Dursley's, but he missed the company he usually held with him at Hogwarts.   
  
He shuffled out of his room and down the narrow staircase. Traffic was slow today because Dudley had slept in and was trudging in front of Harry like a largely obese penguin. He had the irrepressible urge to shove him along, but the thought of 3.5 certain porcelain objects stopped him. Finally, in what seemed like hours, Harry was able to squeeze past his large cousin and enter the kitchen.  
  
"Mphgr," grunted his Uncle Vernon. This was his means of greeting Harry. He only bothered with it in fear that Harry would somehow convince Voldemort to kill them. "Like I could stop him from killing me," Harry had thought wryly when he learned of this.   
  
As Harry knew he would, Dumbledore had warned the Dursley's of the dangers surrounding the boy. Predictably, they had refused to house him, but a simple threat of new lives as frogs kept them in check. For once, Harry agreed with the Dursley's. He had begged the adults to let him live with Sirius, and Dumbledore had of course refused. "He doesn't have a stable home," "He's on the run from the prison, Harry," "You-know-who could find you there," were the usual responses from Dumbledore, Mrs. Weasley, and Mr. Weasley, respectively.   
  
Harry always ended up in frustration. He just did not understand why the muggle home would be safer than any wizarding house. In the magic world, they had magic on their side. In plain old muggle-land, they had no protection of wands or wizards.  
  
Harry sat down, his head spinning with uncertainty. His pudgy-faced Uncle looked at him in disgust mixed with apprehension, as always. His judgmental eyes took in Harry's messy, pitch-black hair (which Mrs. Weasley lovingly referred to as "black berry jam hair") and the familiar yet unusual jagged scar which marked Harry's famous forehead. Harry was used to this critiquing gaze; it was given every morning, and his Uncle was no more discrete than he was kind.  
  
"Boy," his uncle said with a scornful regard. (Apparently they weren't escalated to total fear since they still called Harry "boy") "You've got some letters here, from your little friends." Harry reached over and opened the first letter.  
  
Dear Harry,  
I have arrived at Ron's for my two-week stay, as usual. Ginny seems upset that you are not here. I reminded her it is all for the better, since you are safe there in the muggle home. You know that, don't you, Harry? As long as you are there, you are safe. Do try to understand that.  
  
Of course, Ron and I miss you dearly. I hope everything at the Dursley's is going okay. I know this wish is made in vain since they do treat you dreadfully. But you know you don't deserve it, Harry, so don't let them get you down.   
  
After my holiday at Ron's, I will be traveling to Bulgaria to visit Viktor for another two weeks. Don't worry, I'll make sure I return in time to meet you two at Diagon Alley. Dumbledore did say you could go to Diagon Alley, didn't he? I hope so. I don't think I could stand not seeing you. (Harry blushed here in spite of himself.)  
  
Thanks again for the bracelet. Oddly enough, it's been glowing lately. Are you sure you don't know where it's from? I've been doing research on it. Nothing about charmed charm bracelets yet, but you never know, perhaps I can research it more in Bulgaria at the Bulgarian National Library. According to my book, National Libraries of Western Europe, It has about 56785456 books! I'm sure I'll be spending a lot of time there!  
  
I've been thinking recently, about how so much has been changing. Since The Return, and all. I really do think Dumbledore'll be imposing more restrictions on us from now on. He might even take your invisibility cloak. I'm sure he at least knows what trouble we could get in with it on our hands. You know you're special, Harry, and with You-Know-Who out there, he's bound to target you. I know you're probably tired of me saying it, but be careful. No one wants to lose you.  
  
Well, I really must be going. Love, Hermione  
  
Harry smiled. It was funny how Hermione always seemed to know what Harry was thinking. Like how she knew he had just been complaining about staying with the Dursley's. He missed that. Then again, he missed Hermione and Ron and the Burrow and everything he did not have. He also felt a pang of jealousy when she mentioned Bulgaria. She still had a thing for that twit? Grrr. Sometimes she was so blind.   
  
He rummaged around in his pocket before finding a spare bit of parchment and a red-inked quill.  
  
Dear Hermione,  
  
He stopped. No, the "Dear" bit made him seem girly. He ripped off the top and wrote again.  
  
Hermione,  
(Ah, much better)  
I hope you are having fun at Ron's (Truth). The Dursley's are being horrid, as usual. I think they think I am going to blow them up, like I did to Aunt Marge two summer's ago! (Truth). Tell Ginny I miss her as well. (Truth).   
  
I hope your stay with Viktor goes well. (Lie). Yes, Dumbledore is allowing me to go to Diagon Alley, but only if Ron's father escorts us. I guess I need wizard protection only in the wizarding world. (Truth, Truth).  
  
For the fiftieth time, you're welcome for the bracelet. I told you, I don't know where it's from, I just found it alongside Hagrid's cabin and thought it was pretty. (Truth, Truth).   
  
Have fun researching. Boy, that library sounds interesting (BIG lie). I've never seen so many books before. (Truth). I am sure you'll feel right at home. (Truth).  
  
I know you're just looking out for me. Once again you've accomplished the feat of sounding like every adult I know combined. Don't worry. I'll be fine.  
  
Send my love to Ron, Ginny, Mr. & Mrs. Weasley- oh, just send my love to all of them!   
  
- Harry  
  
Harry sat back, satisfied with his superb letter-writing skills. Sure, he'd told a few little white lies, but that didn't matter, did it?  
  
  
The next letter had ink splotches all over it and was scribbled on in a familiar scrawl. Hagrid.  
  
Harry-  
Thought I'd check up on yer. Hope yer havin' a fun time at the muggle house (If thet's possible.)  
  
Me ' n Madame Maxime have ben checkin' up on some business fer Dumbledore. Goin' well so far. Reckon we'll be back by tha time school starts.   
  
Stay outta trouble Harry, it's no time fer ya to go explorin'. Only ones at trust are Dumbledore, Sirius, Ron, and Hermione. Well, and me. And Professor McGonagall if ya run into her. Oh, and any Hogwart's teacher. Well, maybe tha only people at trust are tha ones ya know ya can trust. Keep an eye out, Harry.   
  
Oh, by the way, Happy early birthday! I'll be sendin' yer present later.  
Hagrid  
  
Harry found another bit of parchment and wrote:  
  
Hagrid,  
Thanks for the letter. I just heard from Hermione also. She's having a fun holiday at Ron's, and later will be going to Bulgaria. She's still into the moron. Hopefully after the visit she'll get him out of her system.  
  
The Dursley's are acting rude and unkind, like always. I hope your trip with Madame Maxime is a good adventure. Whatever it is, I'm sure it's important.. Dumbledore really trusts you.   
  
Don't worry, Hagrid, I'll keep all you said in mind. I know who I can trust. I'll have "constant vilagence" like Moody used to say.  
Thanks for the birthday greetings! 15, here I come!  
- Harry  
  
The last letter was evidently from Sirius, since there was a dog paw print that acted as a seal.  
Harry happily ripped it open and began to read.  
  
Harry-   
  
Just a quick note to say hello. Wanted to make you are safe. Hope the Muggles are treating you as they should. If not, tell them I say "Shazzam, shazzoom!" Heh. No sign of dementors around, which is good. Well, I must be off.   
  
With love, Padfoot.  
  
Harry smiled. It was just like Sirius to threaten the Muggles like that, a protective quality Harry quite enjoyed. He thought more of the last time he had seen his godfather: the end of last school year. It had been a somber time, and it still haunted his memory.  
  
They called it The Return. Harry thought it gave no justice to the horridness of the situation. "The Return" sounded more like the arrival of a yearly circus than the rising of the greatest evil known to Wizardkind. Still, his title as "The Boy Who Lived" was nothing impressive, although everyone knew his greatness. Everyone except, perhaps, himself. If he had known fully, Harry would have been the most arrogant wizard in existence, perhaps more than Draco Malfoy, even!  
  
Harry had made his mark on the wizarding world when he was a one year old, unable to comprehend the greatness the moment signified. Voldemort, or as many called him, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, had come to the Potter household with intentions of killing Harry and his parents, Lily and James. However, the dark wizard faced ultimate shock when, after killing his parents, he was unable to kill the infant. His only effect on Harry was the jagged bolt of lightening he scarred on the boy's forehead, a distinguishing mark Harry would carry all his life; it bore his famous past for anyone to see.  
  
His existence was bleak from then on: he had been sent to live with the Dursley's at his young age for protection. However, his life took a turn for the best. He was informed by Hagrid, the rugged Hogwart's gamekeeper. It was then that he learned of his true past and the school of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and made his first entrance into the magical world with Hagrid at his side.  
  
Harry's magical first year was filled with adventures and developing friendships with Ron and Hermione. As he continued through school, he found the adventures more frequent and the friendships growing. And, as he progressed further into his out of the ordinary life, he had even more escapades and discovered more about the world than ever.  
  
And it had happened on one of those adventures, although Harry had entered it unintentionally. Mysteriously, this past Halloween, his name had been drawn out of the Goblet of Fire. This meant Harry was to participate in the Triwizard tournament; however, since he was underage and there already was a Hogwarts champion, he faced great skepticism.  
  
Despite the underestimation of his peers, Harry went through the competition, actually making it to the last round just as Cedric Diggory, and both boys decided to travel ahead together to claim the prize for Howgwarts. However, it was not a prize waiting for them when they grabbed the cup- it was Voldemort.  
  
Wormtail, his devious rat-servant, killed Diggory instantly and they had used Harry to bring Voldemort back to human form. It was ironic- the very boy who had defeated him helped him rise again. Yet, Harry miraculously managed to escape when Voldemort challenged him to a wizards duel and arrived back at Hogwarts.  
  
Harry still partly blamed himself for Cedric's death... if only he hadn't suggested they take it together!  
  
He pushed away his remorse. He was a wizard, but he still couldn't take back the past. He was about to write back to Sirius when a knock rang out on the door. Uncle Vernon stood up (*boom*boom* went the floor) and thudded over to answer it. Harry heard the sick sound in his voice as he called "Boy. It's for you." Harry stood up, wondering who it could be. Dearly hoping it wasn't Aunt Marge, who enjoyed using him as a coat rack, he opened the door. When he saw the person standing on the other side, he almost fainted.   
  
  
* ~ * ~ * ~ *  
  
Hermione woke up neither happy nor sad. She was used to this feeling, since she had it just about everyday of the summer. It was the feeling a child had when they couldn't find a piece which was missing from their puzzle. For Hermione, the piece was shaped like Harry.  
  
Sure, it was great being in the company of Ron, and Ginny was becoming her great friend, and George never failed to make her smile, but still, Hermione could not shake this feeling off. The only thing that could cure it was seeing Harry. Of course, she would have to hold out all summer, but she still had the memories to tide her over.  
  
She remembered the first time she saw Harry, on the Hogwarts Express, and how she had felt her heart skip a beat, and how she had talked so fast out of nerves she had even annoyed herself. She remembered the first Halloween, where Harry and Ron rescued her from that dreadful troll, and how she wished she could have hugged Harry then but was too afraid. She remembered when she did first hug him, during the potions riddle, and how right it felt to have her arms around him. She remembered the last time she had seen him; how she had given him a small kiss on the cheek, and fought the urge to hold it longer than she had.   
  
The last memory was perhaps her favorite, since she not only kissed Harry (on the cheek, but STILL! ), but also got a present from him. He had cunningly snuck it into her pocket, as a way of not making Ron or perhaps Ginny jealous. Hermione was extremely surprised and gratified when she found it there later, wrapped in a soft blue tissue paper, with a scrap of parchment alongside it, which announced: From Harry, to Hermione.  
  
She had unwrapped it with careful hands and cupped the gift on her palms. It was a glittering silver charm bracelet in the literal sense- its dangling figures were set with incantations. On the clasp, if you looked close enough, miniscule engravings were carved delicately onto the metal. Hermione cherished it greatly.  
  
Lately, the objects on the thin chain had began to glow different colors: the eight of them were surrounded by rainbow-colored lights. Although Hermione had not yet figured out what the charms represented, or what spells were even set on them, she was quite eager to figure it out.  
  
Hermione had asked Harry many times what he knew about the bracelet, but he had dismissively said where he found it, which was not much of a help, but Hermione did not hold that against him, by any means. Of course, she had investigated it in the library: reading "Enchanted Emeralds: A Magic Jewelry guide" had not helped, and although it proved to be a good read, "Magical Objects of Ancient History" did not house any information she could use.  
  
"Hermione?" a sleepy Ginny asked. "What are you thinking about?"  
  
Hermione practically jumped a foot into the air and yelped a little. "Ginny!" she sighed as she calmed herself. "Sorry." She realized how odd she must have looked, staring at her seemingly ordinary bracelet so intently, and quickly dropped her hands at her sides. She peered at Ginny.  
  
Beneath her flaming hair, there were dark circles under her eyes. At one glance, you could see how tired she was in her face. She shivered, and her whole frame shook. Hermione stepped towards her and asked, "Ginny? Are you okay?"  
  
Ginny stepped backwards, as if to avoid Hermione coming any closer. She looked as if she were chattering because of the movements each of her shudders made. Hermione was getting very worried, and Ginny still would not respond.  
  
Just then, Ron burst into the room. "Impeccable timing!," Hermione muttered irritably. Ginny instantly became upbeat and chipper, but Hermione decided to question her later. Right now, she smelled some delicious fumes floating up the stairs. She felt a pang of guilt- food was more important than a well-being of a friend?- but the smells even seemed to cheery Ginny up.  
  
Hermione followed Ron and his sister down the rickety steps. The increased their speed as more and more luscious odors were wafted their way. By the time they reached the kitchen, they were almost running.  
  
Mr. Weasley, it seemed, had already left for work. Mrs. Weasley was flitting around the kitchen, occasionally stopping to stir a pot of porridge or re-fill the bacon basket. Fred and George sat at the table, lazily munching muffins and discussing ideas for new jokes. Occasionally Mrs. Weasley's ears would catch bits of their conversation and she would cluck in disapproval.  
  
Hermione took her usual seat in between Ginny and Ron. She loaded her plate with toast and marmalade, and launched into a discussion with Ginny about the latest happenings on "As the Wizarding World turns", a show which was all the rage with witches of the day, and admittedly the girls' guilty pleasure.  
  
"Well," Ginny said, "I hope Flavian discovers that it was his wife's second personality, Phenice Sconesian, and not his wife that put the Leg locker curse on him."  
  
"Oh, yes," Hermione gushed. "And I bet Lillabeth will find out that Carowyn and Avigdor had an affair, I mean, it is just so obvious!"  
  
"Mmm hmm," Fred cut in with a mock high voice. "And can you beilieve that Marcelinda put that love potion on Gordius? That is just, so incredibly heinous!"  
  
George twirled a pretend lock of his hair and licked his lips. "And that Zehavi is SUCH a hottie, let me tell you-"  
  
Ron was laughing so hard he almost spit out his poridge. Hermione chucked a scone at him, which shut him up quickly, and he was about to retaliate when Mrs. Weasley cut in.  
  
"Boys are so callow, aren't they, girls?" She smiled and winked at Hermione and Ginny, and gave the famous boys-you-better-stop-teasing-those-girls-right-now look to Ron and the twins. George made a puppy face and Fred put his hands up like a praying angel. Mrs. Weasley snorted.  
  
"Interesting post today," she said, leaning over and handing Hermione a poppy seed bagel. "You've got a letter, and your copy of the Daily Prophet."  
She began with the Daily Prophet, figuring the letter was a response from Harry. Well, figuring and hoping.  
  
The front page of the Prophet was the same as it had been for the past month or so. It was dedicated to the fight against Voldemort. Today, apparently, they were featuring a piece about his whereabouts. Hermione read the bold, four inch tall letters. The article said:  
  
WHERE IS THE DARK LORD NOW?  
  
By: Reporter for Daily Prophet, Priscilla Persista (Hermione had succeeded in ridding the paper of Rita Skeeter, but was greatly peeved when another reporter- who seemed even more annoying- named Priscilla Persista arrived at the Prophet.)  
  
Since The Return at the end of this year, witnessed by Harry Potter himself, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has been wreaking havoc on our world. All this ended abruptly a week ago. No, no, he has not been killed. But, it seems he has not been sighted since last Thursday, when Halcienda McPoperkins was tragically killed, leaving behind Lidius McPoperkins, her husband, who is currently single, and looking fine, by the way.   
  
Hermione rolled her eyes in disgust. This sounded more like the personals ads then a serious news story. But still, she continued to read.  
  
It appears You-Know-Who is resting for a while before continuing his killing spree. One man, a Mr. Faldua Grongersio, swears he saw the Dark Lord on a ship sailing towards the Mekishian Isles. Of course, who can take advice from such an old loon like that? Just last week, your Daily Prophet reporter caught Grongersio at the Twisted Tavern, drinking and apparently talking about spotted hippos dancing in tutus. He also hit on Lukericora Smitherian, who we all know isn't the shiniest galleon in Gringott's.  
  
The logical thinkers of the world have narrowed He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's possible locations to three places: Mount Ketateictri, the famed range of posioned peaks; the jungles of Fendarow; or the Lake lair of Wishzacks. Wherever he is, undoubtedly he is plotting some horrible scheme.  
  
- Priscilla Persista  
  
Hermione found this all very interesting. Voldemort had been spotted, by an unlikely fellow. But then again, she thought of Hagrid, who, though often drunk or tipsy, was very trustworthy.  
  
She racked her mind for where she had heard of these islands. Most likely from a book. Well, Hermione practically learned everything from a book, and Harry and Ron took advantage of every time to tease her for it.   
  
She recalled only bits; something about the islands being sacred. It didn't help much. She could always cross reference, but-  
  
Hermione realized she probably had that dazed look on her face, since both Ginny and Ron were looking at her with questioning eyes. Hermione stuttered out, "Just.. th-thinking about... Viktor," she finished. Ron pretended to barf and Ginny gave her a knowingly wink. Of course, late at night they had began gossiping. Ginny knew all about Harry.   
  
Hermione winced at herself. She hated to lie. But she did not want to worry them with all the things she was thinking about. She especially felt bad about Ginny, who seemed very happy to be her close friend, but Hermione could still see she had inkling feelings for Harry.  
  
She decided to busy herself with the letter. It was written on thick, off white parchment, as usual, with a fancy kind of pattern on the sides. Seemed kind of fancy for Harry to send. Maybe he was trying to impress her! Hermione brightened at the thought. She flipped it over to look at the sender. It read, "Remus Lupin. 416 Lewerofew Lane, Cokeworth."  
  
Hermione surveyed it with disappointment, and at the same time interest. Why would Professor Lupin be writing to her?   
  
She opened the letter with a flourish, and almost dropped it in her porridge.  
  
  
* ~ * ~ * ~ *  
  
Harry stared, wide-eyed with disbelief. It could not be. No, he was somewhere else, anywhere but here. All the adults had told him so. They had said he would never come here. In fact, they had guaranteed it.  
  
Maybe it was a mirage. He was hallucinating. It was just an illusion. He wouldn't be here. Nevertheless, Harry could not repress his emotions. He ran forward and flung his hands around the figure.  
  
Smiling, Sirius Black lifted his cloak back. Harry let go of the embrace and smiled up at his Godfather. Harry had not seen Sirius since Dumblebore had sent him off on his mission. Sure, Harry had thought about him, but seeing him in person was most definitely for the best. After all, you could stare at a photo for hours, but never make the person come out of it. Even if it was a moving, wizarding kind.  
  
Sirius nodded at Uncle Vernon, who was staring at him in utter horror. "I'm Harry's godfather," he started, smiling warmly. "You must be his uncle, Vernice?"  
  
"Vernon," Harry's uncle said, jerking his hand away from Sirius' outstretched one. "Um.. I'll just go get my wife for you to meet.. follow me!" He jerked his large body away, practically running down the hall.   
  
Sirius pursued, smiling intently at Harry and slipping off his midnight-blue cloak. They reached the kitchen doors, and Harry precautioned him, saying, "My Aunt isn't exactly a ray of sunshine, and Dudley blocks all the sunlight anyway, so don't expect too much."  
  
Sirius clucked his tongue and said jokingly, "I wasn't expecting much before, from your descriptions of them. In fact, I figured they would implode if we were in the same room!"  
  
Harry laughed and replied, "If only we were that lucky. The day the Dursley's exploded would be the best of my life!" In his head, Harry privately thought that today was probably one of the best days of his life so far.  
  
Harry pushed open the door, to find his Uncle, Aunt, and cousin mashed against the far wall. Petunia winced at Sirius stepped inside, as if he was covered in mud that could ruin her beautifully gleaming white floor. Vernon gave Sirius the same judgmental glare up and down as he did to Harry every morn. Dudley was attempting to back further away and was having trouble since the wall would not budge. Harry was afraid if he struggled more that perhaps it would cave.  
  
Sirius laughed and the Dursley's gasped in horror, as if his laughter carried some kind of terrible life threatening virus. Their eyes seemed to drift around the room, like they were watching the magic slither around and cover everything in sight.  
  
Vernon edged towards the stove and pointed to the bacon on it. "Boy, why don't you feed your.. erm.. guest?"  
  
Sirius ceased his laughter and narrowed his eyes threateningly. "Boy? Did you call him boy? Hmmm... not very polite, are we?" He reached for his right pocket, as if to pull out his wand, and the Dursley's screamed with horror.  
  
"Harry!" his uncle cried. "His name is Harry, after all, I suppose I should call him that!" He stood, ringing his hands with apprehension all over his face.  
  
Sirius withdrew his hand and placed it around Harry's shoulders. "Very well," He said, with a laughing tone. "You can't call bluffs, can you, Verdan?" He fished around his left pocket and retrieved the wand. The Dursley's retracted once more.  
  
Sirius stepped forward and placed the wand on the table, nodding Harry to a seat next to him. "I am hungry," he announced, looking at Petunia in particular. "Why don't you get me some of that delicious looking bacon?"  
  
She stepped forth slowly, never taking her eyes off the wand, as if she thought Sirius might turn her into a flying tomato if he had the chance while her back was turned. She fetched the bacon and practically threw the basket of it to him.  
  
"Some eggs would be nice, boy." He nodded at Dudley. "I'd like mine over easy, sunny side up." He looked at Harry. "I'll take mine scrambled," Harry ordered, smiling broadly.   
  
Vernon looked at Sirius sharply and said, "Our son is no butler!"  
  
Sirius made a motion as if to grab the wand, and Vernon shoved Dudley to the eggs, saying, "Oh well, it can't hurt, can it?"  
  
Soon, the three Dursley's were waiting on Sirius and Harry as if they were kings. They rushed around the kitchen like elves on Christmas Eve. Harry felt the tables had turned; he was being waited on his every whim by them. The very thought made him almost overflow with happiness.   
  
This contentment rivaled that of his third year, once the truth had come out, when Harry had thought for an hour he could live with Sirius and escape the clutches of the Dursley family. He had felt as though he had been given a lifetime supply of galleons (as if he needed more- he inherited a mountain!)   
  
But that chance had been stolen away, like a rug swept out from under him. He would not and could not let that happen again. This feeling was too good to lose.   
  
Sirius was asking all kinds of questions- about Ron, Hermione, Ginny- typical godfather concerned with his son's friends. Harry went through it all, explaining about Hermione's visit to Bulgaria (this part of the conversation was filled with "Bulgaria is stupid." and "Viktor is idiot spelled backwards.") He told about Ginny and her slowly fading crush, and of Ron and his need for a good snog or two (speaking of that, Harry could use some of his own!)  
  
He loved this, just talking with Sirius, and having him understand. But a new thought dawned on him. A hope, really. An irrational one. "Sirius," he asked slowly. "Why are you here?"  
  
* ~ * ~ * ~ *  
  
Draco awakened in his dark, musty bed. His head was swimming with dreams, mixed in with the conversation he had heard last night.   
  
All that his mother had said was in pure support of his well-being. This held no surprise for him; he had always known that her attempts to protect him and shelter him had been out of her devotion and love.  
  
What he was very confused about was all the rubbish about being "molded" and his "destiny". He could do anything he wanted! He was Draco Malfoy, for heaven's sakes, and he did not play by the rules. In his book, fate was some kind of intricate system of regulations, and he most definitely would not follow them.  
  
If there was one thing Draco hated more that Harry Potter, it was his own father. Lucius Malfoy had never said a loving word to his son, and he planned to keep it that way. Whatever Draco could do to displease him, he did. It was well worth the cruciatus curse he was punished with later. The conversation that had taken place last night had only intensified this rancor.  
  
Draco stepped out of bed a stubbed his toe. "Sayda!" He yelled angrily. A house elf appeared next to him. "Get me my breakfast!" he yelled at the poor creature. It trudged off, retrieving a tray filled with delicious looking fruits. Draco chewed greedily on it. He was thoroughly enjoying it until his father stepped into the room.  
  
Lucius smiled evilly and said with relish, "My, my, my. Seems a bit selfish of you, really." He reached for a peach near him. Draco slapped his hand away.   
  
"I would not do that, stupid boy," his father spat. "Obey your elders."  
  
"Ah, yet another word of wisdom from my father," Draco said dully. "Seeing as your life is so successful, I'll be sure to follow your advice. I mean, with all the lives you ruin, you sure got a good health insurance plan!"  
  
His father narrowed his eyes and hissed, "I would not be so sure if I were you, boy. I know things you may never know."  
  
"Intriguing, really," Draco cooed, waving a hand dismissively. "Why don't you go on and get on with your fascinating life, then? Better not waste your time with me, I'm just a stupid boy."  
  
Lucius stood up, fuming. "You will not be so sarcastic soon, boy. You will see." He stopped, considered, and turned around. "And the Zabini's will be here shortly- you'd best get dressed now, for the benefit of all."  
  
Draco smiled. Annoying his father was one of his favorite pastimes. He had began at a young age, maybe six or seven, and his skills had vastly improved. He went from "Daddy, you're a poopy head," to "Father, who stuck a wand up your *insert word here*?"  
  
He sat up lazily, rifling through his immense oak armoire, finally settling on a rich black pair of corduroy pants and an off white shirt with silver serpentine buttons lining its front. He stared handsomely in the mirror, drawing up his torso and brushing his silver-fine hair out of his eyes.   
  
The lowly house elf who had answered his call before once again appeared at Draco's feet. "Master Draco," it whimpered, "I is to shine your shoes now. I is to clean your shoes. I is to make this pretty. I is-"  
  
Draco hiked up a leg of his trousers and growled, "I get the point!" The creature flinched. "Well, get on with it, then."   
  
Sayda hurriedly grabbed a rag and began rubbing the leather boot in circles. Draco tapped his other foot with impatience and he munched on a mango.   
  
The doorbell rang out, playing its echoing tune across the Manor. Draco's ears perked up. This marked the arrival of the Zabini's, meaning Blaise would be coming to his room. Sure enough, a second later, the honey-haired vixen stood at his door, winking vivaciously.  
  
To say Draco was romantically interested in Blaise would have been a lie. It was an animal attraction, one which a teenage boy was expected to carry. Draco had seemingly reached his sexual peak two years before the norm, however, and his magnetism for the feminine populace exceeded in all directions.  
  
Ignoring the expectant girl who waited at the threshold, Draco scrounged his ears to hear his father's interactions. The familiar noise of sliding doors indicated their movement to the study.   
  
Blaise humphed her way over to Draco's side, simply refusing to be ignored. She swung her hips before his face as he sat, Sayda eagerly scrubbing away. Indifferent to the elf's height, Blaise bent over, knocking the creature on its head, whereupon Sayda angrily rubbed the mark of impact with the shoe rag she had used to polish.  
  
Draco, inches from the girls lips, looked at her as if he were just registering her presence. "Oh, hello, Blaise," he began. "I didn't even see you."  
  
She made the sound again, the one which marked apparent offense but seemed to only be for show. "Draco, dear, what shall I ever do with you?" she cooed, wagging a scolding finger in his face. "You're such a bad boy..."  
  
She plopped herself on his lap, wrapping her long arms around his neck, and nibbled on his ears.  
  
"Wow, Blaise, you sure know how to discipline people the right way." Draco said this as if her were incredibly bored, yet still with lingering sarcasm. He knew this would only prompt her further; if there was one thing Blaise Zabini hated most, it was doing something that should give pleasure to a boy and not getting recognition.  
  
She began doing some tricky tongue movements, tracing his ear lobe as if it were coated as a lollypop. Miraculously, she had long ago mastered the art of speaking while licking, and mewed, "It's been so long since I've seen you."  
  
"Yes, and from then until this moment, I was thankful to be living. Damn gods of fate." Draco smiled as Blaise became even more passionate, seeking his approval. She licked his lips, biting at them, about to kiss...  
  
Lucius stuck his head in, Zabini senior alongside him. Draco saw his fathers face widen in disgusted delight. "Well, it looks like our children indeed do get along.. perhaps we shall gain ourselves a grand-heir."  
  
Blaise guiltly but slowly removed herself from Draco, letting one finger, unseen by her father, trace the lines of his torso to the edge of his waistband.   
  
"However," Lucius continued. "It would be beneficial if you two could wait until after supper, and Zabini and I would be sure to keep out of your way." He turned, gesticulating for them to follow.   
  
Blaise raised herself, smoothing her clingy skirt and sauntering away, daring Draco to follow. He, however, waited, knowing his hesitance would gain him something later. Blaise was the best to wind up- he always got rewarded. Of course, he knew it was wrong to use her like that- but she was so eager to be used. She fed off of it. It gave her the self assurance that she was, after all, wanted.  
  
Draco looked to his feet at the pathetic house elf, cleaning the same spot for what seemed the fiftieth time. He gently kicked her off, saying, "Sayda, go frolic or something. Flirt with that one elf, Baclack, or whatever."  
  
Sayda blushed and scampered away. He watched her disappear and then left the room, closing the door behind him.  
  
His unblemished shoes echoed along the corridors planks, sullying their luster. Draco, however, cared little. He called once again for Sayda, instructing her to polish the floors, a job she had worked on and completed all afternoon.  
  
He entered the dining hall, arranged himself at his seat next to Blaise, and returned the icy look he received from his father. "Sorry," he cheekily said, "I'd had a bit of cleaning up to do." The stolid look on Lucius's face told Draco his father found this un-amusing.  
  
"Anyways," Narcissa continued, sending a Watch-It-Your-Father-Is-A-Psycho look to Draco. "What were we discussing?"  
  
"The incompetence of some pure-blood wizards," Lucious spat, pointedly looking at Draco. "Clearly, there are some within our presence." He emphasized his intense look at Draco, who peered back good-naturedly.  
  
"Yes, I agree father. Your ineptitude astounds me."  
  
Blaise shuddered with stifled laughter, quickly ceasing at a look from her father.  
  
"For example," Lucius continued, eyeing Draco testily, "those Muggle lovers, the Weasley's. It's as if they kiss the dirt Muggles walk on!"  
  
Zabini chuckled, adding, "That Arthur and his damn 'Protection Act'... It's completely worthless! Adds nothing to the system."  
  
"Actually," Draco cut in, "you'll see if you look at statistics, the rates of Wizards committing crimes against Muggles has decreased since its installment."  
  
He faced incredulous looks from the men, a proud one from his mother, and a poke in the thigh from Blaise. Clearly, she was shocked at his outrageous behavior and deviation from his usual mentality. Of course, Draco had to deny his father in some way through the conversation, and he had a feeling this would really get to Lucius. He was right.  
  
"That is enough," his father fumed, pointing towards the hall's enterance. "Go to your chamber!"  
  
"Really, Lucius, can't you control the boy?" Zabini asked, giving Draco a disgusted look. "If you ask me, that's a waste of the good blood."  
Blaise looked truly offended. "Oh, shut up!" she moaned, throwing down her silverware.  
  
"Looks like you have a cell mate, Draco," Zabini spit. "Blaise, go!"  
  
His mother shot them sympathetic glances as they left, mouthing "I'll talk to him." Draco appreciated this, although he doubted whether it would really help.  
  
As they neared his room, Draco questioned the girl. "Why'd you stand up for me, Blaise? And don't say because I'm sexy," he added. "I already know that."  
  
She rolled her hazel eyes, poking him on the shoulder and saying, "I respect how you stood up to your father. How do you do that?"  
  
"Easy," Draco shrugged. "I know how to piss him off. It's not that difficult, anyways. You just open your mouth and contradict everything he says. Besides, why do you want to know?"  
  
"If you haven't noticed, Malfoy, I'm not exactly the most defiant girl when it comes to my father."  
  
"Haha. It's too bad he can't see you in bed. That would shock him."  
  
Blaise cocked her head and put her hands on her hips, shrieking, "How would you know how I am in bed?"  
  
"Oh, stuff gets around," he replied lightly. "Just kidding," he hastily said as she swatted him on the arm. He then quickly added, "I've just put a hidden camera in your room. Okay, okay, couldn't resist!"  
  
Blaise was infuriated, but instead of her usual resolve to anger, she sat on an armchair of Draco's and said admirably, "I wish I could do that."  
  
"What, post up hidden cameras? In whose room, may I inquire?"  
  
She threw a pillow at his face. "You know what I mean," she insisted. "I want to challenge my father."  
  
"Perfect opportunity," Draco said, silencing her questions. "Follow me."  
  
He led her down the dimly lit hall to the study doors, passing by the laboring house elf. Sure enough, his ears had not betrayed him- he had heard the sound of the entrance sliding open. Inside, his father and Zabini sat, having a clearly private conversation. Draco leaned forward, indicating to Blaise she should do the same. She looked unsure. "Come ON," he hissed. "If you can't even listen to private conversations and disobey your father, I don't know HOW you made it in Slytherin."   
  
"Oh, my Daddy bought my way in," Blaise said earnestly.  
  
Draco rolled his steel eyes and jerked her forward. Down at his side, Sayda tugged at his pant leg and questioned, "What is you doing, Mister Malfoy?"   
  
He hissed, "Something I shouldn't be."  
  
"Oh no," the elf whispered. "I is not liking that talk, Master. Not at all."  
  
Draco shushed her and resumed his intent listening.   
  
"So, he doesn't know?" Zabini was saying.  
  
Lucius gave his usual malicious grin and replied smoothly, "No, Zabini. I just went ahead and told him. I figured it could work, you know, that the plan would go on as intended." Draco recognized the sarcasm in his voice and knew he had most definitely inherited his snide comments from his father.  
  
"Are you serious?" Zabini questioned, dumbfounded.  
  
"No, you fool! I cannot believe our Lord could find a use for such a nitwit like you on our side." Zabini quickly apologized and Lucius continued. "Now, does that Blaise of yours have any inkling?"  
  
"No, of course not. She's even more of an idiot than Draco is!"  
  
Blaise threw her hands up, outraged, and made a move to fling open the doors and get her father. Draco restrained her. The next moment, they refocused on listening.  
  
Zabini continued worriedly. "But, Lucius, suppose they find out and go to help them? What would we do then? How could we get the sword then?"  
  
Lucius rolled his slate eyes. They resembled Draco's so much in their similarities.   
  
"My son is not brave. He is not smart. But he would not do such a thing to displease me. Even Potter or Lupin could not have a use for him."  
  
"I could say the same for my daughter, Malfoy," Zabini added, bowing his balding head.  
  
Draco glared at his father. He looked at the cowering elf next to him, and the girl who now housed his same passion. "We'll show them," he said to her. "We'll show them how brave we are, and how smart we are, and we will make them suffer."  
  
Blaise nodded in agreement, determination resting in her face. However, the elf saw a different perspective  
  
Sayda stared up at her master. "No," she sputtered, "I is not liking this talk, Master, not at all..."  
  
Draco ignored her. He knew what to do. He slipped away, taking Blaise's arm in his, grabbed a piece of parchment, and addressed it to Remus Lupin.  
  
* ~ * ~ * ~ *  
  
  
Hermione saw the panicked looks register on Ron and Ginny's faces. They could tell something was wrong, of course they could- when your best friend is upset, you can always sense it.   
  
Ron grabbed Hermione's arm and said, "Mum, may we be excused?" His mother looked startled, but said, "Alright, I suppose. Run along, now. And don't go getting yourself into trouble!"  
  
Ginny got up from her seat and scampered along with them. "Ginny," he began, but Hermione silenced him. "No," she said. "She needs to hear it too." Ginny beamed up at Hermione and resisted sticking her tongue out at Ron.   
  
"What does it say, Hermione?" Ron asked. Hermione was, for once, at a loss for words. She held the parchment mutely out to him, and he read it, with Ginny standing tip-toed, peering at it over his shoulder.  
  
Dear Hermione,  
  
I do hope this owl finds you and your friends Ronald and Virginia in good health. I, however, have some not-so-happy news. It seems we have a bit of a problem.   
  
As you may know, Harry was placed in the muggle home with his relatives. Harry is safe within those walls and will stay still safe, if not safer, when he reaches Hogwarts. But, a few nights ago, I received a visit from my friend and Harry's Godfather, Sirius Black.   
  
It was not the first of these visits, and seeing he had just been to see me the week before, I was taken aback. I was not only surprised by this, but by the way Sirius was acting. He asked me many questions about not only Harry, but in fact you, and Mister and Miss Weasley. I fear that I answered these questions all too well, and now it seems I have found reasoning for Sirius' behavior. However, this information does not please me.  
  
In one of his last visits before the change in attitude, Sirius voiced an opinion and a fear he had to me. He was afraid someone might discover that he, as you know, is Harry's secret keeper. Only a select few, including myself, Dumbledore, and you three know where Harry is and has been living all his life. Sirius knew the dangers that could happen if he was found out. He even told me of an odd man cloaked in midnight blue who almost seemed to be following him.   
  
It was only an hour or so when I was able to piece together this conclusion: The Sirius who visited me last week, the one who undoubtedly is with Harry now, is not Sirius Black at all.   
  
I do not know this imposter's intentions. I do know he cannot remove Harry from his safe-hold at the Dursley's until it is past Harry's birthday. As you know, tomorrow is July 31st, Harry's birthday.   
  
We must act quickly. The ministry will not believe this story; we cannot tell them we have had contact with Sirius. I can see only one hope for Harry: we must save him.  
  
I will be by the top window of your house at midnight tomorrow. Pack lightly. Do not mention this to anyone.  
  
Remus Lupin.  
  
Ginny gasped, Ron whimpered, and the parchment floated to the floor.  
  
  
* ~ * ~ * ~ *  
  
Ginny was extremely nervous. First, she had to sneak out of the house at  
midnight? On a broomstick? Her flying skills weren't exactly gung ho. Even worse, she could not even tell her mother? It was terrifying.  
  
Even so, Ginny was excited. How cool would it be if she rescued Harry?  
Everyone would call her The Girl Who Saved The Boy Who Lived! And, Harry  
might even give her a kiss or something! Ah, what an unrealistic dreamer she was, and she knew it, but she couldn't help herself. Crushing was as fun as reality, if not more.  
  
Ginny's daydreams were interrupted by her brother's head sticking into  
the room. "Gin," Ron whispered. "I've made a list of things to pack. Here,"  
he said, hanging a scrap of parchment to her. "Don't let mom know!" he yelled  
for what seemed the 50th time.  
  
"Oh, Ginny, don't let mom know! Oh, Ginny, you're to young! Oh, Ginny!"  
she muttered angrily. 'Now,' she thought, 'I can prove I'm not a baby  
anymore!'  
  
She sat on her bed and read through the tiny list. It said:  
  
1. Cloak  
2. Change of clothing  
3. Wand  
4. Small paper sack of food  
  
Ginny sighed. How could she look fabulous if she had to wear the same old  
cloak when she saw Harry?   
  
The door opened again, this time admitting in Hermione. Guiltily shoving away her lusting thoughts for Harry, Ginny resumed her packing as the other girl walked to her bed.  
  
"Are you nervous?" Hermione questioned, breaking their silence.   
  
"In a way," Ginny hesitated, adding, "And a bit excited."  
  
"I can't wait!" Herm gushed, positively glowing. "I guess I'm used to doing this sort of adventure thing, since I've been in on it before... Oh, I'm sorry Gin," she sympathized, seeing the look on Ginny's face.  
  
"It's okay," Gin offered, "I'm just happy to be in on it this time. And for once, WE get to save Harry! Wow, that sentence was such an oxymoron!"   
  
The girls laughed and continued to bundle their clothing and materials into bags. However, as they spoke, what Hermione had said still clung to the back of Ginny's mind. She had never been on adventures with Harry; in fact, she'd always felt on the outside of the trio of them. It was always Harry, Ron and Hermione who did the exploring, the discovering, the saving. She had always admired it from a far, much like Neville, interested to join in their antics. But she had never managed her way in. So, what had changed? She wasn't sure. All she knew was that this friendship was by far more exciting than ever. And scarier, as well.  
  
Ginny glanced back at Hermione, facing another realization: with Hermione on this trip, there was no way she'd get any attention from Harry. He would give her no more thought than a friend's little sister would get. And that was true anywhere they went. If Hermione was near Harry, which was almost always, then no other girl could even dream of his affections. Well, Ginny still did, and she knew she was setting herself up for heartbreak but she told herself she didn't care.   
  
She sank into the bed, just as Hermione turned and hurried over. "Ginny, look!" She thrust her arm out in front of the girl's face, causing Ginny to notice two things. First of all, the charms were glowing, and the engraving on the clasp was glowing with a jade light. The words seem to rise up off the clasp and floated momentarily in the air.  
  
Initially, Ginny thought Hermione was being extremely rude and showing off the bracelet Harry had gotten her. As if she hadn't seen it before!  
  
It was then that Ginny perceived the second thing: the bracelet seemingly radiated a coldness. There was something about it that made Ginny feel her blood run like icicles through her veins.   
  
As she withdrew herself from the bracelet's reach, Hermione stared in interest. "What's the matter, Gin?"  
  
"N-n-nothing," Ginny replied as Hermione bent forward.   
  
"Ginny! You said the same thing this morning! What is it, really?"  
  
"Nothing, Hermione, nothing!" As Hermione leaned, the radiant jewelry inched closer to Ginny, surrounding her body with cold. Frustrated, she smacked it away, out of Hermione's hand, sighing inwardly with relief.   
  
The bracelet landed at Hermione's feet. She stared at Ginny with disbelief. "Ginny, is this about Harry?" Hermione asked gently. "Please-"  
  
Ginny stormed away, pausing at the door to shout questioningly, "Oh, everything's about Harry to you, isn't it, Hermione?"  
  
"Ginny-," she began again, but Gin refused to listen. "Listen, Hermione," she alleged. "If you're going to take up all Harry's attention, you'd think you wouldn't be so cowardly not to tell him how you feel! If you're going to, do it soon, for the sake of all the other girls."   
  
She stomped away, leaving the other girl to sink into her bed with incredulity.   
  
* ~ * ~ * ~ *  
  
Harry's inquiry hung in the air, leaving a remnant of question. The Dursley's, too, had stopped their kitchen meddling; with cruel eyes they turned towards Sirius, echoing, "Yes, what are you doing here?"  
  
Sirius replied to them, saying, "Not like it's your business, anyway, but I've come to take Harry."  
  
Two things happened at once: Harry jumped up and shrieked with joy, and Vernon Dursley leaped over with the weight of an elephant and ripped Harry from Sirius, dragging him to where his wife and son stood. "There's no way you're taking our Harry," he spat at Sirius, turning his usual maroon.  
  
"Why not?" Harry shrieked, turning towards his uncle. "You hate me, anyway!"  
  
"How could you say such a thing!" Petunia cooed, stroking his cheek in fake affection. Harry hit her hand away, saying, "It's the truth, that's how."  
  
Vernon turned back to Sirius, shouting, "We're his legal guardians, anyhow."  
  
"In the Muggle world, you're his legal guardians." Sirius smiled a mischevious grin, daring Vernon to cross him.  
"So, that makes us his guardians, nonetheless!" Sirius shook his head, pulled out a long sheet of paper and said:  
  
"Wizarding statute 34910: Regarding the guardianship of wizards, witches and warlocks within the magical and muggle communities. If an underage magician lives 9 months out of 12 in the wizard realm, the aforementioned witch or wizard technically is considered a full time dweller of that realm, meaning the wizard guardian of the child is the full time guardian, allowing the child's removal from the said Muggle home whenever the guardian and underage witch or wizard consents." He primly closed the paper and offered it to Vernon.  
  
His uncle took the paper, and Harry saw as he ripped it in teeny tiny pieces. His aunt shrieked as the bits flew back in the air, reverting back to their original form and materializing back into Vernon's pudgy hands.   
  
Dudley said, "Mum, why don't we let him go?" He was cowering away from Sirius, who was giving him menacing looks for the fun of it.  
  
"Because," Harry said accusingly. "They like to have control over me. You think I'm a puppet, don't you?" he said, turning towards Vernon, indicting him. His uncle just laughed. "Well, even so, you're not my puppeteer anymore." He removed himself from Vernon's deathly grip and walked over to Sirius.  
  
"That rubbish doesn't even matter," Vernon said darkly. "I don't live in this wizarding world, so it doesn't pertain to me."  
  
"Nevertheless," Sirius began, "It still applies."   
  
"Then go on! Take him now!" Vernon barked, turning a deeper claret than Harry thought humanly possible. "After all, your statue 24601 or what not should be in place now-"  
  
"No, no, Vernot, you're forgetting something."  
  
"What?" Vernon incredulously said. "And it's VERNON. V-E-R-N-O-N!"  
  
"Oh, Vera, you've forgotten that Harry can't be removed from this house until his next birthday. Which, it so happens, is tomorrow."  
  
"I bet you're making all this junk up, if I find out-"  
  
"We'll be leaving at midnight," Sirius said, stomping away. Harry followed.  
  
* ~ * ~ * ~ *  
  
Draco had contacted Lupin at what has seemed hours ago. How he lay on his bed, Blaise sleeping restlessly on an extra cot he had conjured beside him. 'Although,' he thought wryly, 'she'd be just as pleased if only one bed had been available.'  
  
Masked under his sarcasm, Draco was worriedly awaiting Lupin's response. That was a Malfoy's given talent, his father had taught him. Staying cool, witty, and indifferent in under pressure.  
  
Draco's disdain for his father stopped short at the family sayings Lucius taught them. Most were snide and clever, true to Malfoy fashion. Draco found it beneficial to re-state mottos whenever they applied to a topic of conversation; he also discovered it quite irritated most, so he made an extra effort to use them more frequent than sporadically.   
  
That was another Malfoy knack- finding a vexing trait and using it to perturbe others. Of course, this was only applicable in situations where the person intended for annoyance was not someone to fear or schmooze with. After all, you couldn't very well navigate up the social ladder with actual work! 'Ha!' Draco thought 'Sounds like something a Gryfinndor would do!'  
  
Over in her bed, Blaise apparently was dreaming some horrid scenario, like breaking her nails or something of the sort: her hand rested dramatically against her forehead, her head draped across the white backdrop of the pillowcase. Draco laughed aloud as she struggled with her tangled sheets, twisting herself into knots with close-eyed fury.   
  
He always found the way people slept amusing- as an incessant insomniac, he'd seen many variations. There were the peaceful ones, those "pure" souls; they slept with smiles rivaling those of angels. Some, like Blaise, seemed to rest on a sea of turbulence, perhaps mirroring suppressed anger or truths. His mother had always slept soundly, while his father was one of the twisting sorts.  
  
Draco was brought out of his thoughts as Blaise fell to the floor in a crumpled huddle. Draco laughed aloud as her face appeared, startled and enraged, over the bedside.  
  
"Very ladylike," he managed to sputter between laughter.   
  
"Draco!" she whined. "Help me up!" When he made no means to do this, she cast him her glare and daintily lifted herself up, almost slipping on the sheets that clung to her ankles like tattered flags. "Really!" she insisted. "How rude!"  
  
"What were you dreaming of, anyway?"  
  
"I don't see how it's any of your business," she replied pretentiously, lifting her chin in the same manner.  
  
"Oh, come on. Was it the one where you and Snape are full-blown snogging in his office? Or was that rumor actually true?"  
  
"DRACO! How did you know that?" Blaise shrieked, her mouth open and hand slapped spectacularly at her cheek.   
  
"Actually, I was making that up; good to know it's true. It does explain that rather quick increase in your grade last term."  
  
This would have continued on forever had Blaise not grabbed a pillow and prepared to heave it at Draco. Her attempts faltered, however, as she paused with the cushion in mid-whack. It brushed past Draco's head, barely moving his fine hair. "Is that the best you've got?" Draco challenged in a sort of "bring-it-on" tone.  
  
"Shhhhh!" Blaise said urgently but in hushed tones. "Don't you hear that?"  
  
"No," Draco hurriedly lied. He couldn't very well show his fear to a girl! 'The Malfoy talent,' he thought to himself. 'Stay cool.'  
  
However, the noise, discreet but still audible, seemed to be approaching, coming closer. Forgetting every Malfoy rule he'd ever heard uttered to him, Draco backed away in apprehension as Blaise stared at him, horrified.  
  
"Draco, go see what it is!" she wailed, pointing towards the uncovered window. He refused as he shushed her, not wanting his parents or whatever it was to hear her pleas. If it knew they feared it, it might just kill them quicker.  
  
And then, a face appeared in the window. 


End file.
